Origins Rebel Rumbler
by Kera Larentia
Summary: The smoke break that changed the fate of a delinquent.
1. Chapter 1

The setting sun glowed orange as it slowly descended toward the horizon, casting a foreboding light across Paragon City. People hurried toward their homes, leaving the streets nearly empty, save for the few stragglers and the shady characters lurking in the darkening alleys. In the distance, a police siren signaled the first of many crimes to be committed that night. But in Paragon, the city of heroes, crimes were a futile pastime for the villains.

A faint, steady tapping could be heard above the natural sounds of the city at dusk. The origin of the tapping was difficult to determine, unless one's eyes traveled up the dark wall of the apartment building where a pair of dark legs hung over the edge of the rooftop. But no one looked.

A coil of gray smoke rose from between Liam's lips, twisting toward the sky before fading into the breeze. The air began to cool slightly as the sun's heat faded in the distance, followed closely by the tempting decision to pull the neatly folded leather trench coat from beneath his head. But as alluring as the idea of warmth was, Liam decided that he was too tired to care. Instead he continued to stare up at the darkening sky.

His booted foot continued to keep track of the seconds that passed while he lay on the tarmac covering the roof. After a minute, his hand lifted from his chest, carrying the sweet and deadly addiction that had kept him sane since that afternoon. His calculated kicks continued as he returned his hand to his chest and watched the smoke he exhaled rise to the stars.

Across the roof, the unconscious bodies of members of the local Circle of Thorns lay still. The normally feared group of mystics seemed pathetically weak at that moment, sprawled out where they had been defeated. The scorched rooftop was a lament to the fight that had taken place hours before when their ritual had been disrupted. The poor businesswoman who had been chosen to be the sacrifice for the ritual had fled down the rusty fire escape to safety. She had apparently forgotten about her rescuer in her terror.

The unlucky Guard who had followed her – albeit reluctantly and unconsciously – had broken the rusted bolts that caused the fire escape to crumple against the abandoned business building next door. Fortunately the woman had reached the street by then and was well on her way to a therapist. Unfortunately, Liam had lost his last route to ground level.

The nearby air conditioner made a pathetic attempt at life. The already dilapidated air unit had been another victim of the Circle of Thorns. Liam silently sent another cloudy lament to the sky in honor of the air conditioner. The heap of scrap metal had saved him from a devastating blast sent toward him by a Mage. Liam had avenged the air conditioning unit by knocking that particular Mage into a coma.

Letting out a heavy sigh, the young man brushed his free hand through his pale hair. With the fire escape gone, his only other option was the door he had used to get to the rooftop. The only problem was, in his haste to dodge the blades and magic of the Circle of Thorns, he had been unable to prop open the heavy door with the fist sized stone he had used many times before. Without that stopper, the heavy door had closed and locked automatically. And without that door, Liam's options for getting off the roof were down to two: wait for one of the many heroes of the city to help or jump.

Liam had been there since a little past noon. He had thought that in a place where heroes flew around saving people, he would be helped to the ground in less than an hour. But after seven hours and a full pack of Djarums later, Liam was seriously starting to doubt the use of heroes.

And jumping down thirteen stories to concrete hadn't seemed very promising after the first few hours. Now it looked like his only option.

His hand lifted to his mouth again, pulling in another lungful of smoke and releasing it with a sigh. He really needed to get down. He was tired, hungry, in need of a visit to the bathroom, and the empty box of cigarettes was taunting him from where he had tossed it a few minutes earlier. Liam decided that when he was finished with the smoke, he would try climbing down the side of the apartment building.

The sun was half consumed by the horizon and falling further away. Liam sat up and stretched his stiff muscles, wincing at the series of pops that rippled down his spine. He felt better when it ended, though. A smile even graced his lips as he continued to kick the side of the building with his heel.

This was the last cigarette he had and he was going to enjoy it while he could.

One hour later…

Liam slumped against the metal table until his forehead rested against the cold steel. His hands were pulled back behind the steel chair bolted to the floor, held by thick cuffs usually reserved for the brutish villains who passed through the doors to the Paragon Police Station. It wasn't a comfortable position, but the pain in his shoulders eased the headache he had been trying to fight off for twenty minutes.

The door behind him slid open and a detective entered, passing the two Longbow guarding the only exit to the small room. The red and white clad soldiers of Paragon didn't have any visible weapons, but one of them, a short woman with yellow eyes, had proved to be content to blast Liam with a bolt of lightning if he tried anything funny. The larger man was someone Liam met often enough to know that his power was formidable, but he also knew it took a lot of provoking to get on the wrong end of a taste of that power.

The detective stood opposite Liam, watching the young man with narrowed green eyes. The golden badge hanging from his pocket displayed "J. Brogan" as his name. Unlike the Longbow, Detective Brogan still had his shoulder holster under his suit jacket which held his police Glock in its leather sheath.

"You've proven to be quite the troublemaker once again, Liam," the detective greeted as he casually tossed a manila folder on the table. The wind created by the papers ruffled Liam's snowy hair, but he didn't look up.

Detective Brogan opened the folder, displaying the long list of crimes Liam had committed in his days in the city. From disturbing the peace to assault, Liam's past seemed shady at a glance, but no one had cared to listen to the white haired troublemaker's truth. They only saw the evidence of his fists meeting any challenge that came his way, they never asked his motive. Justice at its finest, Liam had thought bitterly.

Liam didn't move. He was accused of breaking and entering and with only his word to battle the broken glass and silent alarm that had gone off, Liam felt he was once again on the losing end of this argument.

But unlike most other detectives and officers Liam dealt with, Detective Brogan listened to his side of the story. Even with a rap sheet long enough to wrap around City Hall and still have enough to spare for a nice, pretty bow, Brogan had never believed Liam was as bad as people portrayed him to be. It was just difficult to get a judge to believe it when Liam did nothing to help himself against the accusations. Oftentimes, Liam made it worse. All the times Liam had been by to visit the precinct, Brogan had been assigned to handle his cases. The detective didn't mind, in fact he liked the youth, but after three years in Paragon City, Liam had been arrested nearly four hundred times for minor crimes—mostly for beating Hellions or Skulls for trying to pick a fight with Liam. The police didn't mind the fact that Liam defended himself, but the young man seemed to take the fights a little overboard. Usually people ran away when their attackers were down; Liam stuck around to make sure they stayed down until the police showed up and deemed the true villains as the victims.

"So tell me what happened."

Liam leaned his ear against the table, his dark eyes rolling up to look at the detective through the shield of white hair. Detective Brogan met his gaze with a patient look. With a sigh, Liam sat up from his uncomfortable pose, rolling his shoulders to loosen the tension that had built from his position. He slumped against the back of the steel chair instead, stretching out until he finally lifted his legs on top of the table, crossing them at the ankle. The female Longbow tensed as if to strike him with a bolt of lightning, but a dismissive wave from Detective Brogan made her back down. She hesitated, but finally relaxed her stance with a glare at the back of Liam's head.

Liam didn't seem bothered by the movement behind him. He would have looked completely relaxed save for the fact that his arms were shackled behind his chair.

"Gotta keep that leash tight on those new Longbow recruits, J.B." Liam said with a heavy British drawl. His lips curled into an arrogant smirk as he stared across the table at Detective Brogan.

"Ignore him, Vex," said the male Longbow. His deep resonating voice held the tone of command that came with leading an entire unit of people into battle.

The woman, Vex, snapped her gaze straight forward, but sparks of angry lightning seemed to flash behind her eyes.

Liam let his head fall back so he could look at the two guards. His innocent smile was almost genuine, but his dark eyes still held the hint of arrogance that only someone who had spent time on the streets and survived could have.

"I didn't see you there, Nature Boy," Liam said. "Shouldn't you be out watering flowers or something?"

"Liam," Detective Brogan cut in. "Lieutenant Roan has done nothing to you. You should apologize."

Liam turned back to the detective. "I should," he stated.

Brogan sighed. "But you won't," he said.

A smile lit Liam's face. "You know me too well, J.B."

"Just explain why you were at Filters after hours," the detective said. "And why you broke the window."

"I was pissed," Liam said with a shrug. The move was hampered by the fact that he was shackled to his chair. "I guess the glass was weak. Really, I'd think in this city it would be bulletproof."

"It is bulletproof—was bulletproof," Detective Brogan said. He opened the folder, which was already full of paperwork from the beginning of the year, and looked over the statements from Liam, the shop owner, and the first officers on the scene. Liam hadn't been very pleasant—Detective Brogan had yet to see the young man display any attitude near gracious in the three years since his first arrival at the police station—and had told the officers to mind their own business. The police had responded accordingly and Liam had just been, well, Liam.

The detective had a small file cabinet in his office that held the young British man's entire record from his time in Paragon City. Brogan often wondered how big his record was from when he lived in London. Liam's record was long enough to rival some of the professional villains in the city, but his crimes were not as horrific as some and the young man had yet to spend more than a day behind bars.

"Tch, I bet," Liam scoffed, interrupting the detective's thoughts.

Detective Brogan cleared his throat to hide the fact that he hadn't been paying attention. "What I see is that your reason for being pissed was because you've had a rough day."

"Yeah, so what of it?" Liam muttered, his mood instantly dark.

"I think it's relevant that we know what would have caused you to break in to Filters," the detective said, pulling a pen from the pocket inside his suit jacket. "Care to enlighten me?"

"For the record, J.B. I didn't 'break into' anything," Liam said. "I was pissed and I let my temper get the better of me."

"You seem to let your temper control you quite often," Brogan said.

"If you wanna know why I'm pissed, you shouldn't interrupt," Liam said. The detective motioned for him to continue. Liam leaned his head back again and stared up at the ceiling.

"I ran out of smokes after getting trapped on the rooftop for the entire afternoon," he said.

"Why didn't you use the fire escape?"

"It was broken."

"It looked fine yesterday," Detective Brogan said, confusion edging his voice.

Liam sighed. It was the kind of sigh that a tired man uses when he just can't care. It expanded his chest to capacity before he let it out loudly. He closed his eyes and began to recount his tale of an afternoon spent on the roof and the fight with the Circle of Thorns.

"And when it started getting dark, I climbed down the side of the building. Not a fun trip, I might add," Liam finished. "I tried to get there before Filters closed. When I didn't I got pissed about everything and punched the window. I didn't mean to break it. Tell Smithy he needs to get a refund on that bulletproof glass."

Brogan nodded as he scribbled down the last note of Liam's story. He tucked the pen back into his pocket and closed the folder. Liam lifted his head as the detective spoke.

"I'll send a unit to check out the rooftop and see if the Circle of Thorns are still there. Lieutenant Roan and Vex will escort you to a cell for the night."

"Don't I get a smoke break?" Liam asked.

"I thought you ran out of cigarettes," Detective Brogan said.

Liam raised one silvery eyebrow at that. He dropped his legs to the floor with two loud thumps as the detective chuckled. Detective Brogan reached into the inside pocket once more and pulled out a pack of Djarums. He tossed the box onto the table and picked up his folder.

"One cigarette and you owe me," the detective said.

Liam jumped forward, forgetting his hands were bound. The sound of metal twisting and snapping quickly filled the room before all was silent. Liam snatched up the pack of cigarettes and began to tear into the thin plastic wrapping.

"Liam!"

The British youth looked up at Brogan's face. The look on the man's face was a mixture of shock and fear.

"What?" Liam demanded, angry that his greeting to the sweet cigarettes he craved had been interrupted.

"You broke the chair."

It was Lieutenant Roan's voice that made Liam turn to the larger, uniformed man. Then he glanced at the chair in question and didn't quite believe what he saw. Surely that wasn't the chair he had been sitting in before. He didn't remember the broken chains hanging on either side. It hadn't felt like the back was twisted forward over the seat.

It took a moment for his mind to realize that the chair had been bent recently, and with great force as well.

"Liam, you never mentioned your powers before," Brogan said. His voice was calmer than he looked. His look turned from surprise to straight-laced officer, but the bloodless skin tone was a dead giveaway to his apprehension.

"What the bloody hell are you talking about J.B?" Liam asked. "I don't have powers."

"Liam, you just bent a solid steel chair into a pretzel," Roan's voice reverberated through the room, like the first rumblings of thunder in a storm.

Liam nearly flinched at the sound of Roan's voice. It meant he was calling his power.

"I work out," Liam said defensively. It bothered him that they had jumped to the conclusion that he had special powers.

"When he is in a cell, call the precinct doctor and have him checked out," Detective Brogan ordered as he headed toward the door.

"What about my smoke break?!" Liam demanded.

"It can wait," Roan rumbled.

Liam felt his anger rise. He had been through a day of hell and now he was being denied one of the only pleasures in life he could have. Vex and Roan made a motion to grab him, but Liam ducked under them, dashing toward the detective frozen in the doorway with the door ajar. Liam shoved past Brogan, his boots slapping against the tile floor as he dodged and weaved through the desks and people filling the room.

"Liam!"

He ignored Brogan's shout and made his way toward the exit. He slammed into the solid door and rebounded, landing on his backside with a grunt as a flash of lightning struck the door over his head. Liam didn't glance back as he ripped the door from its hinges and fled into the midnight darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

He knew he was in trouble. Liam knew he would do jail time for running, but he had panicked. He slipped into a dark alley to catch his breath. His heart hammered in his chest; he nearly thought it would burst. But he slid into the darkness and leaned against the dingy wall next to a dumpster, flipping open the pack of cigarettes he had somehow managed to keep a hold of in his escape. He tore away the foil and pulled out one of the black cigarettes.

He stowed the rest in his pocket and held his favorite Zippo lighter up to the tip of the cigarette between his lips. Liam's hands trembled from exhaustion and physical exertion from running. It took him four tries to light the wick and finally take his first toxic filled breath. He sighed with relief as his nerves began to calm. He slid down the wall until he was seated on the dirty ground. He didn't care, as long as he had his sweet addictions.

But as the realization of what he had done for his addiction sank in, Liam nearly slammed his head back into the bricks. He would turn himself in, he knew that much. He didn't want his only ally in the precinct getting in trouble on his account.

"I'll go back after my smoke," Liam muttered quietly.

He let his eyes close. He hadn't remembered the last time he had slept. Somehow he kept going. His body was exhausted, it had been for hours, but he had somehow managed to run from the authorities.

He didn't know when he had fallen asleep. He only knew that he awakened to the cigarette burning his fingers. The sharp pain made Liam jump and drop the completely burned cigarette. He cursed as he realized he hadn't even been able to enjoy it. He had escaped the police in order to have a smoke and he had fallen asleep through the entire thing.

"Bloody hell," Liam muttered. "I didn't even get a chance to enjoy my freedom."

"And it looks like you'll enjoy the rest of your freedom even less."

Liam jumped to his feet, turning to the source of the voice. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but when it did, he wished it hadn't.

The smell hit him first, making him gag, eyes watering. The stench of death and the metallic reek of blood suddenly seemed to choke Liam. He grimaced as he raised his arm to cover his nose and mouth. When his eyes cleared, Liam saw half a dozen Vahzilok in front of him in the darkness.

The hulking figures of the pair of Abominations advanced slowly, like zombies in a B-movie. But that was exactly what they were. The patchwork of skin and organs made them seem more like Frankenstein's monsters. But these monsters were much more dangerous than anything Boris Karloff had portrayed.

Moving a little faster than their bulky counterparts, the three living corpses turned their hungry eyes on Liam. Three of them in all, the Cadavers were faster than Abominations, but also weaker.

The Mortificator wore a bloody apron better suited for a butcher shop, and carried a large, bloody machete. The crazed look in the Mortificator's eyes told Liam he had very little time to live. Liam shook off the dizzying stench of death and raised his arms in a fighter's stance.

Liam would not be a victim of Vahzilok. He had been through too much to die at the hands of a butcher. He let the anger that had threatened to take him all day spill over from the dam he had built around his emotions since he was a kid. Though he seemed short tempered to most, he usually held back. His earlier outburst at the cigarette shop had been the first of many cracks that had weakened his last nerve. When that last shred of restraint was removed, Liam could reach deep into that bottomless pit of rage he held within him. He let his fury fill his muscles and quicken his mind. Liam's teacher had told him that his anger was his power, his strength was his will. He had to control both to become an Elite fighter in the London Underground.

"Your flesh will be a wonderful addition to my collection."

Liam's dark eyes narrowed as he prepared to fight. His body tensed, his muscles coiled tight. His last nerve frayed and snapped. "I knew I shouldn't have gotten outta bed this morning," he muttered. Then he embraced his rage and let it carry him into battle.

He dashed forward, thrusting his fist into the gut of the nearest Cadaver. The creature that held parts of many humans was sent flying through the air to land in a broken heap behind the Mortificator. Liam didn't stop. He slammed his right fist into the face of the next Cadaver and finished the third with a roundhouse kick.

That was the easy part.

The Abominations lumbered toward him. Liam glanced behind them at where their master was making an attempt to revive the first Cadaver. Liam knew he would have to take out the Mortificator if he wanted to end this quickly.

Liam took a few steps back before taking a running start. He leapt onto the dirty dumpster, jumping with everything he had over the heads of the slow creations of the Mortificator, the tail of his trench coat fanning out behind him like a cape. Liam tucked his head down, twisting his body into a flip, before he landed on his feet, going into another roll to lessen the shock on his legs. He used the built up momentum to gain his footing quickly before putting on a last burst of speed and drawing his fist back.

The Mortificator glanced up in time to look into Liam's anger filled eyes before the young man's fist smashed into his face, sending him flying backwards into a group of trashcans. The Mortificator lay still.

Liam didn't have time to enjoy the triumph of knocking the Mortificator out with one blow. He turned and abruptly followed the Mortificator's trail courtesy of one of the Abominations. Liam landed hard with a grunt. He quickly gained his feet once more, knowing that if he remained on the ground he would be defeated.

He lunged, his fist connecting with the Abomination. His hand went numb from the blow, sending shooting pains up his entire arm. He ignored the pain, almost willing it to go away. Pain was a weakness he couldn't afford to have at the moment. Later though, when the circumstances weren't so dire, he could pay the price of his pain. He struck again, aiming for the faces of the creatures. One fell with its face crushed under the strength of Liam's strike. The other staggered back from the blow, but Liam had been forced to use his injured arm. He grunted in pain as the Abomination's punch connected with his stomach.

He tasted blood in his mouth. A shout of anger tore from his throat, ripping his voice apart. He let his rage fuel his strength and struck with all his might. Spots of light danced in the edge of his vision as he thrust his fist upward under the Abomination's patchwork chin. The creature's head snapped back and it flew backwards, smashing down on a dumpster.

Liam's breath was ragged and uneven. His chest didn't hurt, but he knew it would as soon as the adrenaline wore off. He spit out the blood pooling in his mouth from his throat and reached a bruised hand into his pocket.

"Nothing better than a victory smoke," Liam whispered. His voice seemed unable to do more.

He felt a wave of dizziness as he lifted a Djarum form the pack and placed it between his lips. He leaned a shoulder against the stone wall as he searched for his lighter.

The tiny flare of light was bright to his eyes. The first drag made him sputter and cough. He spit more blood from his mouth and wiped the sleeve of his trench coat across his lips.

Liam leaned heavily against the alley wall, trying to move as little as possible. His stomach was beginning to cramp and his left ankle felt a little stiff. He must have twisted it when he landed. He hadn't even felt that pain, too caught up in the moment. His right arm was throbbing with pain from his shoulder to wrist and his knuckles felt as if they were on fire. Liam wondered briefly if he had broken his knuckles as well.

"Bugger," Liam sighed. He pushed away from the wall to try and walk out of the alley, but he fell back. He left the cigarette between his lips and used his left hand to brace himself against the wall. His right arm hung limply beside him.

It only took a few steps before he heard the small growl. He spun on his heel and saw the horror of the Embalmed Cadaver before the cigarette fell from his mouth in his surprise. Then the creature exploded, throwing the battered British youth into the street. He slammed into the pavement with a bone crunching sound. Distantly, Liam's mind registered that his lungs refuse to take in air, especially his right one. After a brief moment of absolute coldness, his breath came back, but it was labored.

Liam's ears rang with the concussion and his head swam. He felt the burns from the explosion cross his already bruised chest, but couldn't quite focus enough to look past the seemingly permanent star of light imprinted on his pupils. He sat up…or hoped he did. He couldn't quite tell how his body was positioned. His vision swam for a moment before it settled on the bright lights. They flashed in his eyes; red, blue, red, blue. The ringing in his ears became a constant wail that rose and fell like a siren.

But Liam didn't want to think about it. He just wanted to find his cigarette and finish it. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that it was gone. Some subconscious voice guided Liam's hand to the pack in his pocket. He smiled as he finally managed to get the cigarette between his lips. The smooth motion of drawing his Zippo and lighting the cigarette was hindered by his clumsy fumbling as his right hand refused to work. He finally flicked the lighter to life using both hands and inhaled the sweet addiction. He slid the lighter into his left pocket with the pack of smokes and breathed the only air he acknowledged as fresh. Smoke coiled from his lips, rising to the dark sky.

The low hum of a voice didn't break his concentration on the flavor of his sweet addiction. The voice drew closer and seemed to be saying something. Liam didn't really care. He could finally have his smoke and he didn't want to ruin it with thinking.

"Liam! By God, what have you gotten yourself into now?"

Liam vaguely registered Detective Brogan's voice talking to him. He was saying something, but the words didn't quite register in Liam's mind.

"I need a healer!" Brogan called back behind him.

A Longbow ran to Brogan's side. An aura of healing energy surrounded Liam, but it didn't do much to help Liam against the headache that was pounding through his head.

"I think he's bleeding internally," the Longbow healer said in a low voice. "He needs a doctor."

"Take him as fast as you can," Brogan said.

"I thought heroes received a hospital teleporter for these circumstances," said the red and white clad man.

Liam pushed the Longbow away as he tried to pick the white haired young man up from the ground.

"I'm fine J.B. I'm not going to the hospital," Liam said. Or at least he thought he said. He wasn't sure if he was forming words or if that groaning was his voice.

Liam flicked away the cigarette butt and climbed to his feet. He just wanted to return to his little hole in the wall apartment and sleep. He would have to try to remember why he needed to see Detective Brogan later. For now, that nice place where darkness was numbing and he didn't have to think was tempting.

He wasn't sure if he made it home before the tempting darkness engulfed him and released his mind into darkness.

As childhoods went, Liam couldn't complain much. His older brother, Ian, had raised him and their younger sister, Rheanna, while their mother tried to support the household with three jobs and their father, who drank himself into oblivion.

Liam took the brunt of the beatings their father dished out. He stood up to his father more often than not. And if Rheanna was the target of the drunken fury, Liam would fight his father as hard as he could and take the focus from his younger sister.

He had gone to school with many bruises. But no one questioned him. He was labeled as a troublemaker. The other boys would pick on him, call him names. Liam would break their noses.

Ian often stood on the sidelines, watching with a frown as Liam fought off four or five others. He never stepped in to help, never offered encouragement. But Ian didn't scold him either. He would wait until the victor was decided and take Liam away to doctor his wounds in silence.

Things changed when Liam turned fifteen. Ian left for college, leaving Liam to take care of Rheanna. Liam joined a small time gang that ran through the streets of London. Liam started as a lackey in the gang, but moved quickly through the ranks with his quick wit and strength in a fight until he was the leader's right hand man. With his fighting skills—honed by his father's beatings and his time in the gang—Liam felt that he was unbeatable.

It was then that Liam learned that the feeling of invincibility was his worst enemy.


	3. Chapter 3

Liam liked the darkness that wrapped around him. The only thing that would make it better was if the beeping would stop. It was slow, but constant. It was annoying like Chinese water torture. His roommate was playing another cruel joke on him by waking him like this.

Then the buzz of voices grew louder and Liam could no longer ignore his roommate's rudeness. He was going to smack that drug addicted bastard. But his body wasn't responding to his command to wake up. His pulse sped up as he tried to fight off the sluggishness.

A voice rose above the others, shouting something about worthless idiots and not having enough money to pay hospital bills for freaks. Liam's heart skipped as he recognized his father's voice. A warm hand touched his forehead as his father continued to rant. The youth immediately calmed and struggled to get his eyes to open. He wanted to see his sister, make sure she was safe. He finally managed to crack open one eye, but it was a narrow view of the world.

It was enough. He saw Rheanna, her wide eyes staring down at him framed by a few lose strands of long platinum blonde hair. Those dark eyes held more knowledge than her fourteen years of life should have experienced. But she had a bruise forming over her left cheek. It was yellow and made the pale skin around it look even whiter. Liam felt a flare of anger.

"Shh," Rheanna whispered. "Calm down, big brother, it's not as bad as it looks. I wasn't paying attention when the class was playing American football a few days ago."

Liam took a deep breath to calm himself and winced. His entire body ached, but it was a dull pain, like he was almost healed.

"Hey, Princess." Liam's voice was rough sounding and only just above a whisper.

Rheanna smiled a little, her face lighting up. "You shouldn't pick fights with Vahzilok," she said, her voice still low enough so no one else would hear. "But the doctor says you're healing well. You should be able to leave by tomorrow."

"Rheanna! We're leaving!"

The girl jumped at the voice of her father. She leaned down and kissed Liam's cheek, promising to return later. She disappeared from his sight and Liam heard the retreating footsteps of his family.

Liam closed his eyes tightly, doing a mental checklist of his mobility. His right arm was immobilized and the twisted ankle was splinted. He had no idea how he had ended up in the hospital, but he suspected that his attempt to go home and sleep off the fight with the Vahzilok had ended in failure.

"So you're finally conscious, Mr. Conner."

Liam opened both eyes this time, the sharp jab of pain from the lights making him wince. The doctor came into focus and looked down at Liam, then at the clipboard in his hand.

"Do you know where you are?" the doctor asked.

Liam lifted a silvery eyebrow and gave the doctor his best "are you kidding me?" look. The doctor stared back, patiently waiting for Liam's answer. The young man just wanted to be healed so he could go home and sleep.

"I know I'm in a hospital, not which one," Liam snapped, glaring at the doctor. "Kind of the problem when one city has a bloody hospital on every block."

"Not every block," the doctor said casually as he wrote something on the clipboard. "And I see that Detective Brogan was right in saying you would wake up with an attitude and a glare. He said that it would be a sign that you are recovering well."

"Don't forget that I'll demand a smoke break," Liam muttered only half jokingly.

"Yes, he mentioned that as well," the doctor sighed.

Liam pulled in a lungful of air, noting that his breathing was a little easier. In fact, his whole body seemed better.

Or maybe it was the painkillers.

"It seems your mutation is helping you heal much faster than a normal human," the doctor said.

Liam's dark eyes widened then narrowed with anger. "What?" His voice was sharp and quiet. He didn't want to believe what his ears had heard.

"Your mutation is causing your body to heal rapidly, though only a little faster than normal. I've seen the heroes classified as Regenerators heal faster."

Liam didn't want to hear any more. He didn't want to be a freak of nature. He wanted to leave. He wanted to hit the doctor for even suggesting such an absurd idea, but he knew that wasn't the right thing to do.

"Your heart is abnormally large, but resilient," the doctor continued, checking the monitors as their readings fluctuated. "And even though Detective Brogan mention that you've been smoking for as long as he's known you, your lungs have no tar buildup in them. I'd say you were a pretty fit young man, considering."

"I'm a mutant?"

Liam heard the unsteady tone in his voice. He didn't like that, but he hated the fact that he may have mutant powers. It sickened him to think that his hard earned reputation in the streets of London and Paragon were helped by something other than his own determined strength.

His title as King of the London Underground was nothing. He was a mutant. His strength was not his own.

He didn't notice when the doctor left. He only knew he was alone.

It wasn't raining that night, but it was wet. The moisture hung in the air like a haze that kept people inside their homes. Liam Conner hunched his shoulders against the chill; the torn and patched denim jacket he hid in did little to keep the cold, wet air from touching him. The dim streetlights barely kept the darkness at bay. With his breath coming out in white clouds, the youth moved through the alleys with the confidence that no one would mess with him. It was a confidence with merit since Liam had spent a year in the Silver Ravens street gang. In that time he had worked his way up from lackey to his position as the right hand man of the leader, Sean "The Fist" Morris.

Liam had been unbeatable in that year. The fights others started with him ended with him as the victor. The other gangs who had heard his reputation tried to challenge him, but they had learned quickly to leave him alone. He had faced every challenge with an iron will and rage filled strength.

So Liam walked the streets and alleyways with little concern for being challenged. Anyone dumb enough to do so would be taught the reason why he was the number one fighter in the gang. But it seemed unlikely that anyone would challenge him this night.

Still Liam didn't let his guard down. Any small sound put him on alert. His eyes kept moving from side to side, searching the shadows. He was a good fighter, but that wouldn't matter if someone knifed him in the back.

As Liam turned into an alley from the road, he found an older man surrounded by the members of the Raven's allies in the White Tiger gang. Liam's dark eyes widened when he saw the Tigers—their gang marked by the white and black striped handkerchiefs tied around their arms, legs, or heads—were lying on the ground, groaning in pain. The man who had obviously defeated them stood above one, brushing off the sleeves of his leather trench coat.

"You are foolish to advertise your lack of expertise in fighting," the stranger said.

He turned to walk away. Liam stared after him until one of the Tigers saw him.

"Conner! Take him out!"

Liam knew he was in a tight spot. Even though he didn't really care about the politics of gangs, if he didn't avenge the fallen Tigers, a war could break out between them and the Ravens. He hesitated only a moment before pulling his hands out of his pockets and dashing toward the stranger. He drew back his fist to his shoulder and with a wild yell he punched the stranger in the back of the head.

Or he meant to. But Liam somehow missed his target and his fist flew past the man's shoulder. Liam tried to pull back before he could be thrown, but he was too slow. The man grabbed his extended wrist and threw the youth to the damp ground. Liam landed hard on his back with a grunt that left his lungs empty. He quickly regained his breath and grabbed the man's hands that were still on his wrist with his free hand.

He yanked the man's body down, folding his body to kick up at the stranger's face. The move would have crippled any normal man, but this stranger had already proved to be more than normal. When Liam's boots connected with the man's chest, instead of knocking the man back it sent a jarring jolt down Liam's legs. The man didn't budge.

Liam knew he was in trouble. He quickly pulled his legs back, using his momentum to get to his feet and throw the man over his shoulder. But the man wouldn't be thrown. He let go of Liam as the youth prepared to mimic the maneuver that had brought Liam to the ground. Liam stumbled forward but caught himself and turned, prepared to defend himself. But the stranger was standing calmly in the dim light.

Liam grew angry. How dare this man mock him? How dare he come to Raven and Tiger territory and insult the gangs by picking a fight? Liam reached deep into himself, finding that deep pit of rage he used when he felt that he would lose a fight. That was the key to his success. He pulled from that bottomless pit of anger and let it fuel his body into a frenzied strength.

The man seemed to grow wary as Liam looked up at him, the rage evident in his dark eyes face. The youth shot forward, moving faster than before. This time, when he punched, the man barely dodged and didn't block Liam's other fist, which was aimed toward his gut. The man staggered back against the alley wall and a cheer from the Tigers went up.

But Liam wasn't listening to them. He was concentrated on the numb feeling in his hand. Was this guy made of bricks or something? Liam felt as if he had punched a solid stone wall. He drew back and aimed his fist toward the man's face.

The stranger moved his head to the side an instant before Liam's knuckles would have crushed his nose. Liam's fist met the brick wall behind the man's head. The youth's fist, fueled by his rage, put a jagged crack in the wall where it had connected. Liam's fist, however, went completely numb and useless. He winced, trying to will away the pain that shot up his arm. He couldn't even feel his fingers.

And then stars exploded in his vision. Liam staggered back, his ears ringing. He saw the ground, and wondered how he had gotten there. A familiar sensation made the side of his head throb. It took him a moment to realize what that feeling was. _Oh yeah, that's pain. That's the pain I feel when the sperm donor gets drunk and decides to smack us around._

Liam pushed himself up on his hands and knees, dark eyes struggling to focus on the dark figure standing a few feet away. He staggered against the wall of the alley when he finally got his feet under him. His knees still felt a little wobbly, but he shook it off and forced himself to stand without support from the wall.

"You should have stayed on the ground, boy," the stranger said.

Liam's dark eyes narrowed behind the curtain of damp white hair. He curled his hands into fists—though his right hand didn't hold as tightly as his left—prepared to fight once more. The man in front of him smiled a little.

"You are either stubborn or stupid," he said.

The muscles in Liam's legs tensed with preparation. "I get that a lot."

The youth shot forward, throwing his fists toward the man with reckless fury. The man blocked most of the strikes, but the few punches that managed to find marks fed the flames of Liam's rage. His vision narrowed until he could only see the vital spots in the man's body and his fists trying to strike those places with little luck.

The man was on the retreat. Liam knew that his flurry of punches was putting the man off balance and soon it would be time to strike. But Liam also knew he had to find that opening soon or he would run out of energy and let his guard down.

The man didn't seem to tire though. Liam forced himself to keep up the barrage of attacks, but he felt himself slow considerably until he finally staggered forward, carried by the momentum of his punch. The stranger stepped back as Liam fell to his knees and kicked the youth in the stomach.

Liam doubled over, coughing and spitting out blood. He felt as if he had been kicked by a horse. He was sure at least one of his ribs was broken but he forced himself to ignore the injury until he could take care of it, preferably when the man who had kicked him was a bloody mess on the ground. It took Liam longer to recover and force himself to sit up. When he did, the man was still standing over him, staring down with a strange look on his face.

"A good fighter knows when to stay down," the man commented.

Liam growled at the agony pulsing through his body as he fought to stand. The moment he made it to his feet, he was sent to his back by a stunning blow. He tasted blood as he lay on the ground, trying to focus on the gray sky above him.

He wondered why the Tigers who had begged him for help and cheered him on when they thought he was winning weren't helping him. The brief notion of demanding their heads on a platter crossed Liam's mind until he heard a noise. He opened his eyes, unaware of when he closed them. He saw the pale face of the stranger fill his vision.

"You are an uncouth and untrained fighter," he said. "But you have potential. Anger is your power; your strength is your will. You are being wasted here."

Liam's eyes fought to keep focus. But it was a loosing battle. His body was exhausted and sore. The man's smile was the last thing he saw before the darkness enveloped him.

A mutant. He was a freak of nature. Liam's scowl focused on a civilian passing by the stairs in front of Paragon City Hall in Atlas Park. The poor businessman who passed by the British youth at the wrong moment quickened his pace and fled from sight. Liam winced as yet another new hero passed him by, and headed into the City Hall to talk to a representative. The new heroes were easy to spot with their flamboyant coloring and tights. Liam looked positively drab in his blue jeans and white t-shirt. His signature leather trench coat draped over his legs.

Three hours had passed since he had sat down on the stairs in front of City Hall at the urging of Detective Brogan. Three hours since he had registered to be a hero and stepped out for a minute to take a smoke break. He had already gone through half of the new pack of Djarum Blacks he had bought when the smoke shop had opened. Smithy, the owner, had not been pleased to see him until he apologized. Since Liam had broken the window, Filters had been a hotspot for thieves. Fortunately the Hellions and Skulls had been thwarted by the Longbow patrolling the area and a few heroes who happened to be passing by. But Liam got the feeling that Smithy wouldn't forgive him until he paid off the bill for the new bulletproof window that would be installed by that afternoon.

Liam sighed and lifted his hand to his lips, carrying a cigarette to his mouth for another drag. Only two days after waking from the comatose state he had been in from the fight with the Vahzilok he had healed completely. He had spent the next day in jail while Detective Brogan talked with Smithy and got Liam a deal for release. That night, Liam had gone home to find his roommate had thrown a party and trashed the apartment and the landlord was threatening to throw them out. The British youth had gotten fed up with his Superadine addicted roommate and turned the man in. The police had been glad to take him away and even thanked him. Unfortunately, Lieutenant Roan had been one of the Longbow who had been dispatched to help contain the unruly thug and had overheard the officer's thanks. He apparently reported it to Detective Brogan, who had promptly appeared at Liam's doorstep with the crazy idea that he should do some good and prove himself as an asset to the city by registering as a hero. Liam had been reluctant, but after some prodding from the detective he had finally given in and said he would register as a hero.

"Villain would be more like it," Liam muttered. But he had already registered as a hero so he would be one. It was about time for him to build up his reputation once more. The name he had earned as a King of the London Underground needed dusting off and put to use. Rebel Rumbler would be legend in Paragon City, as it had been on the streets of London.

Besides, Detective Brogan had mentioned he would be paid for his services. It was all commission, but Liam could live with that. He had had far worse than commission before.

The British youth sighed and flicked his cigarette into the pot of fire next to the stairs. He stood and pulled on his coat, even though the day was nice and sunny. He sighed as he remembered he had been given an assignment by his first "contact" from City Hall. The man, Antonio Nash, from the G.I.F.T. section had told him to clear up some Hellions from a warehouse on the west side of the Atlas Park district.

Liam finally made it to the warehouse, after getting lost and finding himself confronted by a group of Clockwork, mechanical beings under the leadership of something called the Clockwork King. When he finally got away from them, he had run too far from the warehouse indicated on the electronic map he had received from the person he had registered with. He finally made it back to the warehouse about twenty minutes later, taking a scenic route as to not disturb any more Clockwork. He took a moment for a smoke break before entering the warehouse, cracking his knuckles and preparing to send some Hellions to jail.


End file.
